


I Don't Care

by Peevesie_Fics



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, Heavy Angst, Insecurity, Misogyny, POV Second Person, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29001894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peevesie_Fics/pseuds/Peevesie_Fics
Summary: Imelda doesn't quite fit in with everyone else. She is fiery and headstrong. Everyone says men don't like that. She doesn't care. And then she does. No, she doesn't.
Relationships: Héctor Rivera/Imelda Rivera
Kudos: 27





	I Don't Care

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking a lot about the insecurities Imelda would have had given her personality and sociohistorical context, and how they would affect her feelings about Héctor, so this happened. Enjoy!  
> [Tumblr link](https://callonpeevesie.tumblr.com/post/641289141534048256/you-are-eight-you-are-angry-at-your-brothers-you)

You are eight. You are angry at your brothers. You have to wait on them and they won't cooperate and you shout at them, perhaps more than is reasonable, but you are angry and you are tired of no one ever listening to you.

'Mija,' your mother chides. 'Nice girls don't act like that.'

You turn to her. She never listens when you complain about your brothers and when you are pushed to the edge and lose your temper she tells you to be quiet. 'I don't care!' you say.

Her face hardens. 'Imelda.'

You know you have gone too far. You take a step back and mutter an apology. You have to, because you don't get away with things like your brothers do.

You are thirteen.

Men don't like that.  
You are already tired of trying to be a nice girl because it's no use. You are better at faking apathy and quick to lose your temper. It's hard not to. You hate the way people act like everything you do is wrong. Your mother seems to think you enjoy making her angry. But she's wrong, it's just how you are, and no one understands that. You tell yourself you don't care.

They tell you men don't like that. They don't like your poise and your confidence and your glare which scares off potential admirers. 'I don't care,' you say. If they won't care for you unless you act the way they want, then you don't see why you should care what they like.

You are fifteen. You hear an indecent comment in the street and instinctively take off a shoe and turn to glare at the offender. He cowers.

'You'll scare off all men, Imelda,' your companion says, half disapproving and half awed.

'I don't care,' you say lightly, slipping your shoe back on.

You don't care. You don't care. You don't care. You shouldn't have to care that men don't like you. You don't care. It doesn't faze you that no man will ever love you. You keep telling yourself that are confident in your feelings. Even though everyone says otherwise. Everyone says you should care. You should want to change yourself to be what men like. They are wrong. You don't have to change yourself. You don't have to care.

You are sixteen. Your friends are getting married one by one. Your parents keep hinting that your future will be ruined unless you behave because men don't like that.

Your friends cheerfully talk about their husbands, and how they treat them, and you turn away in distaste. How are they okay with being treated as less than they are?

They ask you when you are getting married. You shrug. They understand you will never be as patient with men as they are, and they shake their heads. 'You'll never get married if you keep that up,' they say. They mean well.

They say men don't like that. They are right. Men don't like women like you. But sometimes you wish they were wrong. Sometimes you wish there was someone who would like you, who would see you as a person and not something he has to tame.

You wish you could prove them wrong.

You prove them wrong. You are eighteen. For the first time you don't have to remind yourself not to care because this time you really don't care, you don't care that other men don't like you as long as this one does. And you look at each other at the service and he is tearful and you have known each other for so long and he says he loves you, and so do his eyes, and for once you feel free because other men may not like it but he does and that's all that matters.

You don’t have to change yourself to be loved. You do what you always do and he loves you for who you are. This is more than you ever could have hoped. You wonder how you got so lucky.

Your friends ask you about your married life and look incredulous, even dubious, when you tell them how sweet you husband is. You know they think husbands shouldn’t be like yours. You know if you aren't an ideal woman in their eyes, he isn't an ideal man. Maybe that's why you understand each other.

You are nineteen. 'It's a girl,' you croak out. You know he knows, but you say it anyway. You love her and you are happy, and you know he will be too. But a small part of you, the part that occasionally reminds you that you are a disappointment to everyone, wonders if he will be disappointed. You know he won't be angry, you know him that well. But what if he is –  
He takes the baby from you and your heart stops at the way his expression fills with love. 'She's perfect,' he whispers, and you know you are not a disappointment. Not to him.

You are twenty-two.

You are back to saying you don't care. You are working all day, trying to keep busy. It's you against the world and you are determined to get through this. And when the thoughts come back you tell yourself you don't care. But the wound is raw and the time between finishing work and falling asleep torments you every night.

Everything you have heard in the past, everything you have ignored, now comes back.

Maybe they were right. Men don't like that, after all. No man does.

Maybe he never did love you. Maybe if he did, he would have treated you like his trophy wife and his servant the way other husbands do. The ones who don't abandon their family. Maybe they were right. Maybe all the times he made you feel loved and like you are worth something was a lie all along, like everyone always seemed to think it was.

The pain turns into anger, every night like a routine. How dare he make you trust him. How dare he make you feel loved and comfortable if he was going to prove it all a lie anyway. How dare he give you the best brief years of your life only to take it all away. How dare he leave you.

And the anger turns into pain again and your heart aches like it will shatter and even though you try not to, you cry yourself to sleep every night.

Because you care. A lot.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think <3


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